


I've been hearing symphonies

by curiosa



Category: Digimon Adventure, Digimon Adventure tri.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Memory Loss, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-05-10 07:01:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14732156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiosa/pseuds/curiosa
Summary: Taichi fell that day when Ordinemon rose, now ten years later Yamato encounters a stranger with an all too familiar face, but just because he looks like Taichi doesn't mean that it is him, does it?





	1. Chapter 1

He's having the dream again.

Yamato feels the ground beneath his feet shaking, co-ordination leaving him as everything around him shifts and shudders and falls apart.

There's a familiar feeling of panic spiralling in his gut, his hands slick as he holds tight onto Meiko and tries his best to stop the both of them falling through the cracks.

Something is missing though. He can feel it like there's a part of him missing.

His head strikes up, nausea filling him as he searches for Taichi; left, right, then _there_ right in front of him.

He swallows, mouth dry, he knows exactly how this goes.

“Taichi!” His throat is raw from shouting. “Taichi!”

That stupid, foolish boy trying to outrun the cracking ground beneath him.

 

-

 

Yamato shoots up to a sitting position feeling like his heart is jack hammering out of his chest. There's a tinny, repetitive sound coming from his phone that's getting louder by the second and it takes him a minute to recognise one of _BTS'_ songs blasting out as his irritating as all hell alarm. He stretches his arm out, hand gumming the table and the floor as he tries to locate the god damned thing. Cursing his brother as Takeru has clearly had his sticky fingers on his settings again, because for some reason his brother finds it hilarious to constantly change Yamato's alarm and ringtone to cheesy boy bands that he knows Yamato wouldn't ever dream of listening to. Never mind that he now knows practically all the words.

He finally palms the phone, curling his fingers around it and desperately swiping in an effort to get it to shut up. _La la la la la la. This is not coincidence._ Slamming the off button, Yamato drops his phone on his lap and rubs his face tiredly, trying to ease the dull ache that's already making itself known through lack of sleep. Last nights ramen is congealing in a bowl in front of him, the dregs of whatever juice he has left in his fridge in one of his favourite mugs. He'd made it home late after pulling a double shift at the restaurant and then been too tired to even finish his food. Thank goodness he has lunch today with Sora and Jyou as he can't remember the last time he's had a decent meal, let alone finished one, he is far too used to grazing on food from in the kitchen, coming home exhausted and then falling fast asleep.

He pulls himself up off the sofa, wrinkling his nose at the state of his apartment; not only do his food habits need to be looked at but his cleanliness does too. He makes a quick attempt at tidying up, grabbing the bowl, mug and a couple of used glasses off the table and carting them over to the sink. Yamato sighs, he used to be so good at this keeping it together thing, tidying up after his dad, keeping their household clean and tidy and – Yamato sniffs – smelling nice, not of a weeks worth of stale food and dirty laundry. He's been overworking himself for so long now that it's starting to creep over into his personal life. The load of crockery facing him proves too much and Yamato congratulates himself on at least moving it over to the sink and decides to leave it at that for now. He'll do it later, he tells himself, after lunch with his friends. 

The best thing he can do for himself right now is to shower and go grab himself some fresh air and a coffee. Maybe if he walks around the streets or even the park for a bit, it'll help him wake up.

 

-

 

It's early May and the air is warm with a swift breeze keeping him cool enough to need a jacket still, the air swelling with grey clouds in the distance and the heavy promise of rain. Hopefully it'll at least hold off until lunch where Yamato will be tucked away inside _Monsoon Cafe_ , Sora's choice, because it was near to Jyou's work and also served her favourite tofu and vermicelli noodle soup; he'd tried to cook it for her on more than one occasion and each time she insisted it was nowhere near as good as the original. His insistence that they probably made it from a packet always got Takeru laughing and Sora rolling her eyes, though he noticed she still always managed to clean her dish.

His shower has done wonders at waking him up, there is nothing better than having freshly cleaned teeth, washing your face and being clean shaven. Sometimes it felt like he constantly smelled of food and grease and like he'd just bathed in a batch of hot swampy noodle soup; he really was spending too much time at the restaurant working.

Despite the shower his head still feels a little thick, like another 36 hours of sleep would do him, he's got at least forty minutes to kill which is when he spies a coffee kiosk selling freshly made pastries, crepes, and hot and cold drinks. He heads over, deciding that a black coffee will shake off the last of the cobwebs filling his head. As he waits for his order the girl serving him flutters her eyelashes at him, waiting for her friend to finish making his drink. Yamato avoids eye contact, he's never been good with this kind of thing despite the years of having girl groupies; not only has it now been a while but she has to be at least five years younger than him, definitely at least younger than Takeru. Coffee made, Yamato accepts his drink, pays the girl and smiles back at her as she blushes. To be honest he's forgotten what it's like to get this kind of attention, the usual scruffy demeanour and beard too long to even be considered hipster-ish, putting people off. Truth be told, Yamato now liked it that way. He'd always hated the attention when he was younger, claiming to be just in it for the music, and then Sora had happened and then the Digital world and Taichi and well... music and fangirls was a long ago forgotten dream now.

The park is full on a day like this, groups of mother's pushing buggy's and trying to shepherd their children into their line of sight. Teenagers hanging about under the shade of blossom trees and older couples taking in their surroundings on the newly painted wooden benches. Yamato is about to make his way over to an unoccupied bench, taking a sip of his coffee when a shoulder bumps into him from behind. His arm jerks forward, hot coffee spilling out and up over the lid, sloshing over his sleeve and hand and burning his skin. He hisses, feeling his temper rise as his lips curl into a snarl and he yelps out as the pain hits him. To the side of him a distant voice yells out a swift, _sorry_ , as the man who bumped into him jogs quickly past, clearly in a hurry. 

 _sorry_  

Yamato feels his whole body tense. Freeze on the spot.

_sorry_

The voice is at once both achingly familiar and a painful, distant memory from seemingly a whole other time. 

Yamato blinks. Unfreezes. “Tai-” 

Coffee and spillage forgotten, Yamato kicks himself into high gear and glances up, watching the man disappear as he rushes through the early lunch time traffic, twisting and turning through the churn of human bodies that seem to have doubled now that Yamato needs to get through. 

 _Taichi._  

It can't be, but-

“Wait!” he shouts, feeling desperation begin to fizz through his throat. There's a hole in his chest. There's a hole in his chest and it feels like its filling with helium, all at once feeling light and dizzy and he needs to move. He picks up his pace, trying to follow the man's path, keep him in sight and not fall over his own two feet. He shouts again, “Hey!” The odd questionable look getting thrown his way but Yamato doesn't care about the attention. The one that he does want to stop and turn around is completely ignoring him. Yamato curses the fact that he hasn't acted quicker, that he didn't reach out and stop him. Physical activity has never been his forte, preferring to listen to music or create it himself than joining in on any physical after school activity; not that his time in the digital world hadn't improved his running. Then again running for your life always did give you an extra boost of energy. Still, it's certainly been a while now and he's slowing down, feeling the pace and in one heartbreaking, agonising second, Yamato realises that he'll never catch up to him.

Yamato stops, doubles over and breathes heavy. He feels sick, dizzy, giddy at the thought of what he's just seen. He takes a deep breath, swallowing the spit that's covering his throat; god he really is unfit, and then barks out a laugh that has an elderly woman side eye him and shuffle past just that little bit faster.

That was Taichi, he's sure of it.

His hair might have been a little bit shorter and he's obviously taller than the last time they were together, a bit more broader in the shoulders maybe, but Yamato would know Taichi anywhere, recognise his voice in a heartbeat. He clenches his hand into a fist and scans the crowds for any sign of that familiar, slightly scruffy, unruly hair of his. He starts walking fast, not a run this time, his body hasn't got it in him, but a fast pace, light jog at the most, checking and following every one that might possibly be his long lost partner.

 

-

 

Yamato's phone dings as he digs it out of his pocket and swipes at the screen. He's hot, sweating, the air warming up as he keeps up his pace to try and find Taichi; not that he's had any luck yet, pushing his way through what seems like Odaiba's whole population for nothing. The text comes up on his phone, Sora:

_Jyou is running late (surprise). What's your excuse? :)_

Oh god, his lunch date. Yamato looks at the time on his phone realising he's completely forgotten. He's fifteen minutes late and by the sound of it, Sora is sat alone waiting for the pair of them. He quickly types back a message:

_Sorry. On my way now._

It takes him at least another ten minutes of a light run to make it to the cafe, spying the familiar red hair of Sora at one of her favourite window side tables. He makes his excuses, pulling out his chair and practically falling into it, he didn't realise until now how much his legs are shaking. Sora's ordered herself a green tea, the light herbal scent making Yamato realise just how dry his mouth is. Thankfully she's also ordered a jug of iced water, three glasses already filled before he arrived; he grabs his own glass and pretty much downs it in one sitting.

“Yamato?” Sora's staring at him, eyebrows steadily rising, her face creasing with concern.

He shakes his head, pours himself some more water and sips it slower this time until he's caught his breath. He can feel beads of sweat curling down his hairline, wiping his forehead with a napkin and imagining what a state he must look.

Sora places her hand over his own trying to focus his attention; she's clearly just asked him something he paid no attention to. “Are you okay, Yama?” She only ever calls him that when she's really concerned, a leftover relic from their past relationship. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Yamato inhales sharply and blinks back at her. It's an ironic choice of words really. “Yamato?” Sora's voice rises with concern, her hand squeezing his own.

“Sorry, I'm-”

“-here.” Jyou's briefcase lands on the floor next to them with a clatter, shocking the life out of both of them before he sits down completely oblivious to the mood between them, collapsing back into his chair and loosening his jacket. “I didn't think I was going to be able to leave, sorry.” And with that he starts telling them a story, Sora's forehead scrunching tighter with lines the longer he goes on on his ranting tirade.

Eventually she interrupts him, “Jyou?” Jyou blinks, looking at his wife and then over to Yamato, finally sensing the moment he's interrupted between them. “ Yamato was just about to tell me something important.”

“Ah, sorry,” Jyou says, clamming up and looking expectantly back at Yamato, there's a flicker of concern now, Jyou's eyes warm but worried. “What's happened?”

Yamato swallows. He's not sure what to say now, or at least how to say it. Two pairs of eyes watching him with concern and worry written all over their faces. Spit it out, he thinks. The best way to say it is to just come out with it.

“I just saw Taichi.”

Sora inhales sharply and Jyou's eyes widen, his forehead furrowing.

“Taichi?” Sora asks softly, “ _Our_ Taichi?”

“Our Taichi,” Yamato replies and he can't help the smile that takes over his face before launching into his story. At the end of it Sora's grip on his hand has tightened, her fingers clutching his own, a sad watery wobble to her lips. She looks to Jyou who shakes his head softly.

“Yamato,” Sora says and he knows that tone, sympathetic, soothing, and it makes him feel surprisingly angry. She sighs, looks to Jyou once again before saying, “Taichi's gone, you know that.”

Jyou clears his throat, correcting her, “Sora,” he waits a beat before saying, “I've seen him too.” And at that Yamato leans in closer feeling like his heart is in his throat. He can't speak. Can't breath. He can only wait for Jyou to finish his sentence, Sora looking at her husband like the pair of them have gone insane between them.

“You have?” She asks, clearly wondering why this is the first time she's heard of it, which Yamato is wondering himself if he's being honest.

“I see him all the time.”

Yamato blinks, confused. “Wait, what?”

“I see him on the train, in crowds on the street. Once I followed somebody for about ten minutes convinced it was him until I finally got a good look at him,” he smiles at Yamato, “but it wasn't. I understand what you're saying-”

“No, you don't,” Yamato insists, his voice rising, he shakes off Sora's hand and tries to ignore the look of hurt that crosses her face at his behaviour. “I saw him.” He's convinced. He's sure of it. Taichi bumped into him and ran off and...

“Why wouldn't he have been in touch?” Sora asks quietly.

“Why didn't he stop?” Jyou counters.

Yamato opens his mouth to answer them both and realises that he can't. That they're right. That in all truth he hasn't yet had a chance to stop and ask himself the same questions.

“It was him though. I was so sure,” he murmurs. The spark of excitement fizzes away to leave him with a gaping hole in his ribcage.

“Yamato?” Sora's voice is sweet and kind and if he dwells on it too much, well, he can feel a heavy burn in his throat and a familiar pricking behind his eyes that makes him uncomfortable.

Thankfully their server swiftly returns and conveniently interrupts them, Jyou flapping as he finally looks at his menu and asks the others to order first before him. Yamato can't think of anything he even wants to eat right now, suddenly feeling as if he has no appetite. Sora's looking at him though, her gaze heavy and growing more concerned by the second. He smiles swiftly and orders _monsoon noodles_ , playing with his napkin to gather himself as Jyou finally orders.

“You're right,” Yamato says as the server leaves them to go and place their order. “I guess I was just-” He stops and breathes, “wishful thinking or...”

Sora nods and Jyou answers for the both of them, “We know, Yamato. We really do.”

Sora nods in agreement. “So,” Sora says, banging her hands on the table and discreetly wiping underneath her eyes, launching into a tale regarding her last fashion project to try and distract them.

 

-

 

They spend a couple of hours together, leaving with Yamato promising Sora he'll look after himself, her hand squeezing his arm lightly. She pencils in a coffee date a week later, having wanted to meet him in a couple of days time, she always was a worrier; telling him he looks tired and is working too hard. Which can be said for all three of them really, but Yamato understands what she means and he appreciates the sentiment.

He spends the next hour wandering back through the park, telling himself that he's just getting fresh air. It's been a while since he spent this long outside, but he's really hoping for another glimpse, hoping that he'll see him. It's stupid really and Yamato feels silly, scrutinising everyone he passes in case they turn out to be his long lost friend. The reality of the situation is that it's more likely that Sora and Jyou are right. A simple case of mistaken identity. It's just that, well, he really believed it was Taichi, he's never been more sure of anything.

His phone starts ringing, some obnoxious boy band singing about love and broken hearts, honestly he's going to kill Takeru, he swipes to answer to the culprit himself.

“Hello, Takeru.”

“Sora's worried about you.”

Yamato sighs, he was expecting this really. Sora doesn't believe in letting things go until she knows everything is okay and believes it. Takeru carries on, “Why is she worried about you and why does she think I should be worried too?” So she didn't tell him what Yamato said after all.

Yamato sighs. “I thought I saw Taichi.”

There's silence before, “What do you mean?” His voice is serious, quiet.

Yamato rubs at his eyes tiredly. “This guy bumped into me in the park and I swear, Takeru, it was his voice.”

There's another loaded silence before Takeru asks, “Did you see his face?”

Yamato closes his eyes. Taking himself back to that moment, the glimpse of the man he saw. A twist of a body, a flash of tanned skin, he had seen his face but for the life of him he can't remember the exact features. “I don't know but...”

“Do you _think_ it was him?”

Yamato blinks in surprise, he'd expected Takeru to shoot him down straight away. “Honestly at the time I did, but... I don't know.” He doesn't mention where he is or just what he's been doing for the past hour. He doesn't need anyone else thinking he's crazy.

The truth is though that if he's so sure it wasn't him, if Jyou and Sora convinced him, then why is he still here looking?

“Have you told anyone else?” And by that Takeru means Hikari.

“Of course not, I'm not even sure myself.”

“I'll ask Koushiro. See if anything unusual has been happening.” Takeru goes straight into journalism mode. “I'll look around too, see if I can dig anything up.”

“Takeru,” the words it's fine or don't bother are on the tip of his tongue, but instead Yamato says, “thank you. 

“Don't thank me yet, we haven't found him.”

 

-

 

Yamato spends the next few days working lates, getting up early and going to the park, he searches the local games for a familiar face and comes up empty. It's frustrating as all hell but the fact that he hasn't seen anyone even remotely favouring the man that bumped into him keeps him going. There's still a chance his mind didn't make things up and produce figments of his imagination. Still, real life calls and Yamato's agreed to an earlier shift this morning to work on some prep at the restaurant, so he can't afford to go for his usual stroll in the park and morning sightseeing mission.

The kitchen is quiet in the morning, his favourite time. The hustle and bustle of service a few hours away and a friendly camaraderie amongst the chefs that are at work. Yamato sets to preparing the sashimi this morning, thinly slicing fresh venison and storing it for service later. Cooking, he's discovered, relaxes him. In the end it was something that he fell into and discovered, by accident, that he loved, a bonus being that he was actually good at it too. Taichi had always teased him at the lunches he'd prepared for school, saying he hadn't added enough seasoning, that it'd be better with a dollop of hot and spicy sauce.

In the past he'd always cooked for his dad, preparing meals that could be eaten or finished later with a quick ping in the microwave to heat it up, his dad more often than not coming in late from work and too tired to even think about cooking. Then once Takeru had moved back to Odaiba and turned into a teenager he'd discovered that turning up at his dad's usually provided him with another meal for the day, especially if their mom was late working. Yamato had steadily turned into an unofficial chef to his friends, all of their meetings or hang outs taking place at the Ishida residence so that Yamato could provide the food for them. The sight of empty dishes and full stomachs enough to allow Yamato to let the tradition continue.

It had been hard for a while, after Taichi's disappearance and Meicoomon's downfall. After the final battle the team had begun to drift off separately, each member dealing with their shock and grief in their own way. Yamato had closed himself off, retreating into himself and going over his last moments with Taichi repeatedly. Constantly searching for a way that it could all have gone differently. That they all would have made it home in one piece together.

Bit by bit life had started to go back to normal and Yamato had found that he just didn't care anymore. School restarted and exams carried on and Yamato found himself at a loss for what to do. He'd made his choices for his finals, but the future now seemed so different, all of his opportunities open and closed at once.

He'd started cooking in an effort to bring them all back together, starting with his brother and Hikari, bolstered by their genuine appreciation of his food and sharing memories of Taichi together, their small gatherings healing them so that slowly he started inviting everyone else. Grief was funny like that, on your own it swallowed you whole, but sharing with others at least helped to keep you afloat a little longer.

Yamato grabs some daikon radish out of the walk in fridge and starts to prep the accompaniments for his sashimi. He stifles a yawn, feeling his jaw pop in retaliation, he really needs to remember that piece of advice, especially considering the last few months he's definitely spent more time working here at the restaurant than spending time with his friends or family. His mom had asked to meet him for a coffee over a month ago now and Yamato had replied that he was too busy. Granted, part of him was probably putting that meeting off due to the fact that he always felt awkward around her, stilted silences and plenty of throat clearing, still, there was only so long before Takeru would get wind of it and start interfering.

Daikon cut into thin shreds, Yamato next prepares some grated ginger and garlic to go along with his soy dipping sauce. His phone vibrates in his pocket and Yamato pulls it out to find a message from Takeru. He hasn't heard from him since that last phone conversation, his brother no doubt burrowing into his research until he's found something conclusive.

_May have found something. Call me when you get a chance. T._

Yamato reads and then re-reads the message, burning the words into his head. _May have found something_. Something good or something bad? Something that leads somewhere or...doesn't? God, why is Takeru choosing to be coy in this moment? He's got a bit to go before service starts and then after service clean down. Seconds, minutes and hours before he might finally be able to get some answers. He tries to shake it off, a chef not concentrating is likely to cause an accident that leads to burnt or chopped fingers. He just has to get through a few more hours and then finally he might know something.

 

-

 

Service goes spectacularly awful. Despite his pep talk, Yamato's head is anywhere but in the kitchen. He slices his hand, burns a pot of rice and trips up over his own two feet, sending a plate ready to go out flying. He normally helps out his fellow chefs once his section is finished, but today not even Akemi wants his help, shooing him off and swiftly moving all utensils out of his reach so that he can't grab anything. Instead he cleans up his knives and wipes down his section, waving a swift goodbye as the rest of the team breathe a sigh of relief, grateful that he's no longer proving a hazardous substance to them.

He changes out of his whites and throws his jacket on, hand clenched around his phone in his pocket. He's hoping, no, praying that Takeru answers. He's bound to go out of his mind if he has to wait much longer. He's making his way through the busy restaurant, packed out for lunch, when he hears a familiar bark of dry laughter. The last time he heard that sound, it had just been the two of them. Taichi's shoulder pressed up against his own, the vibrations of his laughter running through him. Yamato turns around knocking into one of the servers, Mao, a tiny slip of a girl who only started the job a couple of weeks ago. She lets out a tiny squeal, Yamato reaching out to stop her from falling, he succeeds, thankfully, watching in horror as the tray of drinks she had in her hands falls to the floor and crashes in a deafening symphony as all eyes turn to look at them.

There's the obligatory round of applause from some asshole but Yamato doesn't hear it, a roar in his ears like the cracking of a mountain. Taichi Yagami has half rose out of his seat and is now staring at him.

Around them more servers appear, swiftly scooping up the broken glass and asking the pair of them if they're alright but Yamato doesn't even hear his own answer. Taichi blinks back at him and then turns as the man next to him asks him a question. Yamato steps forward, confused, doesn't he recognise him? His foot crunching on a sliver of glass that has one of the servers angrily sighing at him.

Taichi looks older, taller, shoulders definitely more broad than the last time he saw him, he's still lean in that way that shows he still likes to keep fit and god, Yamato just finds himself wanting to touch him. He imagines his hands pressing into his skin, fingers curling around his shoulders, his back, and then pulling him in close to him. He's wondering if he still smells the same, like freshly cut grass and sweat and rubber, if he still smells of the strawberry soap wash that Hikari used to favour.

His eyes are warm and laughing and there's not a hint that he's aware Yamato is stood in front of him. Hesitation is building up inside of him, trepidation holding him back. This can't be his Taichi, he just doesn't understand it. He's dreamt of this moment thousands of times over the years, imagining their reunion every way possible, and this, well this just never seemed feasible.

Mao is asking if he's alright but Yamato shakes her worry off and begins to make his way forward. Taichi is oblivious to his approach, the smashed glasses old news by now as everyone returns to their meals and drinks and conversation.

Yamato reaches his hand out to Taichi, lets his fingers touch his shoulder, his achingly familiar face turning to look up at him as Yamato says, “Taichi?” his voice coming out soft and broken.

The whole table is looking up at him now and Taichi is wearing a hesitant smile as he turns to face him, eyes swimming in uncertainty as he replies back, “Sorry, do I know you?”

 

 

 


	2. Before all I heard was silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for how long this has taken. I've been busy and now my laptop has broke and goddamn typing this has not been easy.

Yamato's breath is stolen right from under him.

“I-” he starts and then realises he doesn't know how to continue. What the hell is he supposed to say? Where the hell should he start?

His mouth falls open again and then just like that he freezes; like a fish gasping for air. It feels like the whole restaurant is now staring at him, the table in front of him, the one just behind; Yamato's skin growing hotter by the second. Suddenly he's well aware of the vacuous silence and Taichi, well Taichi is staring at him like he's never seen him before, confused and questioning, like he's just another stranger in the room; staring at him as if they didn't grow up together, as if they didn't face pending death together, as if they haven't always had each others backs.

“I-” he stutters again, his fingers slipping from Taichi's shoulder to fall listlessly back at his side.

He doesn't know him.

Taichi doesn't know him.

He's got this all wrong.

“Is everything okay here?” Leiko, the manager on shift tonight appears at Yamato's side, throwing him a meaningful look at what to her eyes looks like one of their chefs is unnecessarily disturbing the clientele. “Yamato?”

Taichi turns to nod at Leiko as Yamato mutters out a rushed, “Sorry, I...” He turns to leave, suddenly feeling like he can't breathe. He's too hot, too enclosed. He needs to get out of here, needs some fresh air inside of him. He flees the restaurant, customers already having returned to their meals and conversation like Yamato's world hasn't just been thrown into turmoil right before them.

With a hurried determination he walks through the exit door, past the windows where people don't even give him a second glance and, once he's out of sight, crashes back against the brick wall, breathing in deep and dragging his fingers through his hair, his hands shaking. He can't get Taichi's expression out of his head, the look of pure confusion and what Yamato can only describe as blank emptiness in his eyes.

He didn't even know him.

It makes no sense.

“Hey, wait!”

Yamato pushes himself up off the wall, turning to find Taichi walking towards him.

“Uh.”

Smart, Yamato, real eloquent.

“Sorry,” Taichi comes to a stop, rubbing the back of his neck and grimacing. “I...well...” Yamato finds himself staring. His hair, his skin, his eyes. All so familiar and yet different too. It's like looking at a photo that's been smudged and crumpled, small and significant changes that make everything new. Taichi clears his throat and Yamato does his best to not stare and focus. “I did actually plan to say something sensible and now that I'm out here – well -.” He shrugs his shoulders.

Yamato shakes his head, still a little confused. “Sorry for disturbing your meal,” he swallows hard. His mouth is dry and his tongue feels thick in his mouth like it's stuck to the roof of it. He thinks about it and then goes for the truth. “I just thought you looked familiar.”

Taichi squints then, like he's trying to puzzle Yamato out. “I've just moved here from Yokohama, well a month or so back now but I don't really know that many people yet and sorry to say I don't think we've met. I mean I really don't think I'd forget.” Yamato feels his face flush. “Familiar you say?” His eyebrow rises, “I guess I just have one of those faces, hmm?” At that he twists his lips and crosses his eyes and Yamato feels his heart soar higher, his mouth pull wide into a grin. It's just pulling a silly face but his smile is all Taichi, the way that his nose wrinkles, his eyebrows hike up, the laughter in his eyes looking back at him; Yamato has seen it all a thousand times before and for too long now he didn't think that he'd ever see any of it again.

It's been too long.

And yet none of it makes any sense.

Yamato breathes in deep to calm himself. He has to play it careful, he doesn't want to scare him off. “Just a coincidence then,” he smiles feeling nervous, now that he's got his attention he desperately doesn't want to let it go. “So what are you doing out here then?”

Taichi blinks as if surprised to be asked and then grins, relaxing into the conversation. “Public relations manager,” he stops, fishes around in his pocket and brings out his business card, handing it over to Yamato. Yamato studies it with great intent as Taichi goes on to explain that most of his business was out here so that it made sense to move nearer to his clients. Yamato nods, feeling dizzy, like his head is full of cotton wool as he reads the name printed in slightly cursive black ink: Kamiya Taichi.

Taichi.

What the hell is going on here?

Yamato keeps a hold of the card, tight between his fingers. He needs to talk to somebody, Takeru or Sora, maybe Koushiro could make some sense?

“I've been playing in the local five a side,” Taichi thumbs behind him back to the restaurant. “Turns out I haven't lost all my skills from high school. It's a little celebration meal for our last victory.”

Yamato gets excited, “You play soccer too?”

Taichi nods. “You play too? We're always looking for new recruits if you wanna join?”

It's the last thing he'd ever dream of doing and still he finds himself saying yes. Yamato nods. “I mean I have been meaning to get out more recently, lately all it seems I do is work.”

“I hear you.” Taichi's eyes widen. “Really though? That's great. You should -”

He's digging himself in far too deep, “Oh no,” Yamato shoves his hands into his pockets as Taichi looks confused. “I can't play, I mean I did, briefly in school but - ” he stops before he starts saying that it was his friend who was the soccer star. “I was never much good at it.”

Taichi makes a scoffing noise. “Have you seen half of those guys back there? Some of them are lucky if they make it one run up the field. You at least look healthy, some of them have clearly had one too many glasses of sake for the last twenty years of their life. Besides, I can train you up easy, I'm quite good if I do say so myself.” At that he barks out a laugh and Yamato finds himself returning it, his laughter contagious.

“I mean, I guess I could, I suppose.” The funny thing is he finds himself actually wanting to do it. If Taichi had suggested this in the past...

“Great. I mean, look I better be getting back to the guys, but message me tonight.” He points at his card still clutched tight between Yamato's fingers. “Mornings or evenings are best for practice. Weekends and Thursday nights are when we have our games on, but,” Taichi blinks, “I guess it was fate or destiny or whatever that made you come up to me.”

“Yeah...sure.” Yamato says, still not quite believing what's happening. “Thank you,” Taichi grins a beaming smile at him. “I'll be in touch, I promise.”

He throws him a fleeting wave before shouting back, “You better be. I know where you work.”

 

-

 

Yamato makes it back to his apartment in a fleeting haze of blurred images and wandering thoughts, his mind a complete scramble. Somehow he makes it back in one piece, throwing his jacket onto the hook behind the door, keys on the counter and kicking his shoes over into the corner. He walks over to his sofa, collapses into the soft saggy bit in the middle and pulls Taichi's card out of his pocket.

Kamiya, Taichi.

The name makes no sense but what use or reason would Taichi have for lying? To go to this length?

But Yamato is sure that it's him.

Why would he hide from his friends or his family all of this time?

Why would he not even have appeared to have recognised Yamato?

He'd never been that good at lying in the past, stuttering or stumbling over words as he tried to come up with a different scenario. Besides, Yamato had always been able to see through him. He'd always been able to read Taichi like a good book, every single twitch of the lips or slight raise of an eyebrow.

Yamato's phone vibrates in his pocket. He digs it out and swipes it open to find a facebook notification and rolls his eyes, suddenly remembering that he's supposed to ring Takeru. He scrolls through his contact list to find his brother's number, taking a deep breath before pressing the button to call.

He can feel his hand shaking as the phone rings out, a click as Takeru finally answers, his brother's warm and familiar voice saying hello.

“Takeru, you said to call?”

“Right, just give me a second.” There's the sound of typing as Takeru taps away at his keyboard as Yamato waits. A beat before he comes back and then, “So I've been looking up old news articles from the time that everything happened.” The word everything of course encompassing a whole world of disaster and hardship that almost tore them all apart. “I've not found anything concrete. It's not as if Taichi was front page on the Odaiba daily chronicles and we just missed it, you know, but it's surprising how many people went missing or were injured in the destruction caused by Ordinemon. I think maybe even more than we thought. The emergency services were overwhelmed, especially that first night. They were even asking ordinary people to help out. The injured were being shipped out as Tokyo's hospitals became overwhelmed. There's a small possibility he could have slipped through the net. It's really small but -” There's a pause and then the sound of Takeru muttering to himself, “There's something there, maybe something I'm missing... Of course you remember Motomiya and the rest turned up out of the blue and they had no idea how they got here?”

Yamato nods and then clears his throat, “Sure, but Taichi wasn't with them. We'd have known. Besides Taichi fell in the digital world before...” he trails off, feeling that old familiar lump in his throat.

Takeru sighs. “I know. I know.”

“You think maybe he got thrown out somehow and what?” Yamato leaves the question hanging, feeling his anger bubbling up. “Why would somebody cover that up? Why wouldn't they have said?” He can feel his anger bubbling up. “Why would he just disappear again when he could have come back to us?”

“I'm not saying that. I'm just trying to piece something together with what very little we have.” He sighs again sounding tired and overworked. “We have to remind ourselves that he might not even turn up.”

Yamato looks down at the business card on his table. He could tell him right now. Maybe they could piece it altogether and between them make some kind of sense.

The moment passes and the words are on the tip of his tongue and then Takeru speaks up, “I've spoken to Koushiro. He says he hasn't noticed anything off but he's definitely going to look into it further and see if anything comes up.”

“Did you tell him?”

“No, I just sort of fudged up some stuff and you know Kou, he got excited about checking everything out.” He takes a rattling breath. “I don't want Hikari hearing anything until we know, well, anything.”

“Right, of course.” The sentence sobers him up. “Good, thanks, Takeru.”

There's the shuffling of the phone as Takeru says, “Look, I know it's nothing exact yet but there's still always hope.”

Yamato smiles to himself, looking down at the card and firmly not asking himself why he isn't telling his brother the truth.

 

-

 

It's three days later, eight am in the morning and Yamato is wearing what he considers 'sportwear' or the closest clothing that he's got; a pair of baggy jeans and an old t-shirt that once upon a time Sora had used to sleep in and he'd never had the heart or inclination to throw out. Truth be told he feels pretty stupid, self conscious even, something he hasn't felt since being an awkward teen.

He'd left it a few hours before texting Taichi that night, constantly typing, deleting and retyping out a message before taking a deep breath and hitting send before he lost his nerve and gave up. Not too long after he'd received a message back and a suggestion of both a time and date.

Now here he was, stood in the park waiting to kick a ball about and feeling his gut twist and churn about. If Takeru could see him right now he'd be laughing his ass off. Yamato glances at his phone, five minutes have passed and he's beginning to feel uncomfortably like he might have been stood up, not that this was a date.

Another couple of minutes pass before there's a familiar shout and Yamato turns to see the warm smile and laughing eyes of his friends face. “I am so sorry I'm late. I've never been too good at not hitting that snooze button a couple of times, you know?” His lips grimace and Yamato feels his lips twitching into a grin. He knows that all too well, is what he wants to say and then remembers that he can't.

“It's fine, I've only been here a couple of minutes myself.”

Taichi inhales and bounces a ball at his feet. “So now we're both here and uh -” He looks Yamato up and down. “both sort of dressed for the occasion. Jeans, really?”

One eyebrow quirks and Yamato feels himself blushing, stammering before Taichi's shaking his head.

“I mean it's an interesting choice but we'll definitely need to get you something proper to wear for a match.” He throws the ball at Yamato who slaps his hands around and then watches it fall dismayingly to his feet.

“I should tell you that I'm really bad at this. I mean no talent. None at all.”

Taichi laughs as he kicks the ball around his feet, running circles round Yamato. “Back to the basics again then I guess, I can already tell that this is going to be a lot of fun.”

 

-

 

“Okay, okay, I'm beat.” Yamato leans over, hands on his knees and breathing heavy. He can feel sweat dripping down the back of his head and gathering around his hairline, swiping his shirt sleeve across his head. He knew, of course, that he'd let himself go a bit these past few years, but god, he really is pretty unhealthy. They've not even been going that long. Thank god Takeru isn't here or he'd be having a field day.

Taichi dribbles the ball towards him, a dark patch blooming on his shirt below his collar bone. Yamato drags his eyes away and looks up to find him looking concerned, his mouth pulled down at the corners. “Hey, are you alright?”

Yamato looks up out of the corner of his eyes and nods. “Just a little out of shape,” he breathes out as Taichi's concern turns into a sweeping and relieved grin.

He looks up, shading his eyes from the sun, tanned skin glittering in the heat. “I guess we can call it a day.” Despite his aching muscles, Yamato feels a pang of regret lodge in his ribs. “It is getting a bit warm out.” Taichi narrows his eyes. “And I can't tell if your skin is red from the running or the sun. Best not to leave it to chance though.” He toes the ball up and into his hands.

Yamato pulls himself up to standing, wincing in what he knows is going to be a really painful spot tomorrow.

“Hey, you okay?” His hand comes down onto Yamato's shoulder, a frisson of electricity shooting up his spine as his thumb just lightly touches the bare skin of his neck. “I think we've both had enough for today, how about we go and get something to eat?”

Yamato can't believe his luck. “Now?”

“Well I was thinking right now, unless you have somewhere else to be?”

Yamato shakes his head a little too quickly, not sure if he's feeling dizzy from excitement or lack of oxygen or something else. “No, no. I'd love to go and grab something. Thanks.”

 

-

 

“This is one of my favourite places to eat.” Taichi says, sitting opposite Yamato and loudly slurping the noodles up from his soup. He slurps them up with a lip smacking pop and then leans back in his seat, his eyes closing as he makes obscene noises that he sort of wishes more people would make with his own cooking. Yamato pokes about his own ramen, the noodles a little soft, the vegetables looking less than fresh that morning and the meat definitely over seasoned. Probably to try and disguise the taste.

“Oh, I see.”

Yamato blinks, looking up to find Taichi, one eyebrow raised, staring at him.

“Sorry?”

Taichi sniffs and points at Yamato's barely touched bowl of ramen and then points back at him. “Food snob.”

Yamato repeats himself. “I'm sorry?”

Taichi shrugs. “You're one of those food snobs.”

“No, I'm not.” he argues, snagging up some noodles and slurping them down. “I just know quality food when I see it.”

Taichi takes another gulp, chopsticks dangling mid air from loose fingers. “I get it. You work in that fancy place, I mean I did eat there and it was good, don't get me wrong. Superb even.” He moves his hand to cradle his chin. “I'm just guessing no one can cook as good as you though. At least in your head.”

Yamato finds himself snorting. “Of course they can.” Taichi's eyebrows rise again. “I am not a food snob.” He hurls another wad of noodles in to his mouth in protest as Taichi smirks.

“I like this place because it reminds me of home.” He shrugs, “Just something about the flavours.” Yamato puts down his chopsticks to listen. “It was about a week after I moved out here and I was just beginning to feel a little bit homesick, a little bit lonely.”

“So it's like your mom's cooking?”

Taichi lets out a bark of laughter. “God no, my mom rarely cooked and my dad was not allowed anywhere near the kitchen.” His nose twitches as he takes another spoonful. “If you think this is bad you should try his attempt at cooking.” He picks up a piece of meat and pops it in his mouth. “I can't really describe it but it just feels like home somehow, a little bowl of heaven.”

Yamato nods, sipping up a noodle. It's been a long time since he's had food from the Yagami's, but he remembers Taichi suggesting he pretend to enjoy whatever delight his mother had cooked up, Hikari's queasy face as she swallowed it up politely, Koushiro's tales of the night he'd spent on the toilet. Yamato had always insisted that it couldn't have been that bad, after all he had had to endure his dad's cooking on the rare occasions he'd made it home early and felt inspired, but looking at Taichi now, watching him eat the so called food that was in front of them, well, maybe it did hold a ring of truth.

“You know I really enjoyed today.”

Yamato freezes with a spoonful of food hovering before his mouth. Taichi's gone back to eating, shovelling food down his gullet like any second it might go off. Of course Yamato's enjoyed today, hell, for a second there he'd even managed to forget how fucked up this whole thing was. The two of them spending time together in a way that felt like no time had passed at all, like Taichi hadn't spent the last few years in Yamato's mind, dead. Because Yamato is sure of it now, he has no idea how, he can't even begin to explain it, but there's no doubt in his mind that this man in front of him is Taichi Yagami.

“I did too.” he says, pointing out the bowl in front of him, “maybe next time you let me cook though?”

“Next time?” Taichi's eyes are bright, his grin wide and contagious and Yamato feels something unfurl in his gut. “So that means you'll be a part of the team then?”

“Oh... yeah, sure.” Yamato can't help but feel the tiniest bit deflated. He'd sort of hoped Taichi had just purely enjoyed his own company but he'll take whatever he can get.

“I mean you definitely need some more practice before we have a game. I think you might currently be our second worst player.” He smirks, “How about Wednesday morning?”

Yamato nods eagerly. He's pretty sure he's working late that day but even more importantly, that's two days away from now.

“Deal. Just promise me that we don't come back here again after practice.”

“How about we take it in turns? Your choice next time.”

“I think that sounds like a plan.” He says, trying to keep his cool, just the chance to see Taichi again has him feeling giddy, Yamato can't help but feel excited for Wednesday already.


End file.
